Scenario:Daenerys has a feeling there's something wrong
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Daenerys has a feeling there's something wrong
Daenerys Targaryen
ruling over Meereen and other cities. She is determined, compassionate, and strongwilled. Daenerys is haunted by a recurring dream of her brother Viserys' death and feels a growing sense of unease about her future. She struggles with the weight of her responsibilities as queen, particularly in dealing with the Sons of the Harpy's rebellion. Despite her fears, she remains resolute in her quest for justice and peace.
Jorah Mormont
knowledgeable, and conflicted. Jorah has been exiled from his homeland for selling poachers into slavery to pay his debts. He secretly contracts greyscale while traveling with Tyrion Lannister and later seeks treatment in Valyria. Despite his past mistakes, he remains devoted to Daenerys and hopes to redeem himself by serving her.
Tyrion Lannister
intelligent, and cynical. Tyrion travels with Jorah Mormont after being rescued from a brothel by him. He provides comic relief through his sharp wit and sarcastic remarks but also shows empathy towards Jorah's plight with greyscale. Tyrion hopes to find a new purpose in life after being exiled from Westeros.
Sometimes, in my dreams, I am back with my brother Viserys in the house of the red priest.
His hazel eyes are gleaming with excitement as he speaks of our destiny.
"You will see, Daenerys," he says.
"They will not forget what they owe us.
The Dothraki will come at our call, and the armies of the Seven Kingdoms will follow."
Our boxes are packed, and the horses are saddled.
The priest’s spiked tiara and heavy vestments are stowed, the eggs as well.
The red priest walks us out into the moonlight.
The air is cool and scented with blood oranges.
The butterflies are awake, fluttering around the bushes.
My brother pauses to mount his horse.
"Here, little sister," he says, handing me a dragon’s egg.
It is so heavy I can barely hold it.
That is because of the weight of all the lives that will be lost when it hatches.
The egg binds my hands, crackling with a black magic that whispers secrets in my ear.
I hear the voices of those who will die because of me: the innocent, the brave, the loyal.
I am deaf to my brother’s words when he speaks of glory.
I am blind to his smiling face.
I cradle the egg against my chest, feeling its cold surface, its scales, its pulsing.
The moonlight catches the shell, and I retreat to a corner of the garden, where the shadows are darkest.
My fingers trace the patterns on its surface.
I lean close, my lips almost touching the shell.
Words form in my throat.
"Viserys," I say.
"Why did you die? Why did the rebellion fail? What path should I follow?"
The egg is silent at first.
But as I speak, a warmth spreads through my palms.
A whisper comes from within, a voice that speaks directly to my soul.
It is not a voice that can be heard with ears, but it makes my skin crawl.
I am about to ask another question when a shadow moves at the edge of the garden.
I turn to face it, knowing that the answer I seek lies not in the past, but in the choices I make now.
I leave the shadows of the garden, the dragon egg’s warmth still in my hands.
I walk through the dimly lit corridors of my pyramid, the stone beneath my feet polished smooth by the passage of time.
The walls are lined with frescoes that tell the story of my ancestors, who built this city and ruled it for thousands of years.
My footsteps echo off the stone, and I am accompanied by the silent forms of my guards.
We pass through a courtyard where a fountain bubbles and splashes, and then we are in a long corridor lined with torches.
The flames dance in the breeze, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
I see Jorah standing guard at the end of the corridor, his arm carefully covered by his sleeve to conceal the greyscale that infects him.
He is a reminder of all those who have betrayed me, all those whose choices led to death - including Viserys’.
I am lost in thought when I hear footsteps behind me.
I turn to see Tyrion approaching, his short stature casting a long shadow in the torchlight.
His face is twisted into a grimace as he hurries toward me.
"Your Highness," he says, bowing his head.
"I have news from the city."
"What is it?"
I ask him.
"There are reports of increased Harpy activity in the eastern quarter," he says.
"They are attacking travelers on the roads and raiding homes. The people are afraid." I nod, feeling the weight of my responsibilities settle upon me like a crown.
Ruling is not just about making decisions that lead to life or death; it is about choosing between different kinds of death.
If I do nothing, more innocent people will die at the hands of the Harpies.
But if I send my soldiers to fight them, others will fall as well.
The dragon egg feels heavy in my hands, its black magic whispering choices in my ear.
I grip the stone railing before me, my knuckles white with tension.
I turn back to Tyrion, resolve hardening within me, and say, "We strike at dawn."
